


mementos of the dead

by FancifulRivers



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Binary Frisk, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 06:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13025136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: You don't know why you kept them.





	mementos of the dead

Chara thinks you're weird. Chara tells you that it makes no sense to dedicate a whole corner of your closet as some sort of shrine to kids you never even met, that there's no way you  _can_ meet. Chara goes all huffy and red in the face about it sometimes, and you wonder why. You try asking a couple times, but they refuse to answer. They just shut you out. You wonder if it has anything to do with the dagger. It holds a place of honor in the middle, and you put a rainbow sticker on the handle. It makes Chara roll their eyes every time they see it, but you can see them hide a smile when they do it.

You don't put stickers on the other things, though. It doesn't feel right. You don't have that relationship with any of the other kids, you couldn't build up a rapport. Chara says you've spent too much time reading dictionary of the day if you know that word and you tell Chara right back that it doesn't make you some kind of nerd just because you know how to read.

You ask Mom about the other kids sometimes. Not often- you know she doesn't like talking about them because it makes her sad, but it's better to ask her than to ask Dad. Dad just cries. He won't tell you anything at all about them. You only try once with him and then spend the rest of the time awkwardly trying to comfort him. You kind of don't want to. It seems unfair to comfort him about child murder. Chara agrees with you, but doesn't stop you from doing it anyway.

But Mom will talk. You know the blue soul kid really liked ballet and wanted to become a professional dancer when they were older. You know they confided fears in Mom that they wouldn't make it, that they would break their legs really bad and twist them like pretzels, or that they'd fall from a very high height and snap their neck. You know they worried a lot. Their trait was Integrity and you think they sound really nice. You wish you could dance with them, like the ballerina on top of the music box you got for Christmas.

The orange soul kid's trait was Bravery and Mom laughs when she says they showed it in spades. They wanted to leave so quickly. They were keen to check out the rest of the underground, no matter her protests. You wonder if bandannas are acceptable substitutes for bandages. Chara says anything can be if you want it badly enough.

The yellow soul kid was jumpy and energetic. They watched old cowboy movies up above and liked to pretend they were a sheriff. You never found it, but Mom says they had a little brassy sheriff badge, too. Probably a shitty plastic one scavenged from a kid's meal, Chara dismisses, but you know it wouldn't have felt like it to them. Their trait was Justice and you feel a little more connected to them every time you set the cowboy hat lopsided on your head. You know yours is Determination, but you feel like Justice would have been a good fit, too, maybe. Chara laughs at you when they hear this, not in a mean way, and says you'd fail in the first five minutes.  _You're not a justice kind of person, Frisk,_ they tell you, patting you on the head with a hand made of fog.  _You're too nice._

_Justice can be nice, too,_ you think stubbornly, but Chara just laughs again. You ask Mom for more stories, curling into her lap and breathing in the soft scent of her perfume. It's uniquely hers, and it makes you feel safe every time you smell it. Here, at least, you are home. (Chara agrees.)

Perseverance was the purple soul kid's trait. You wonder how that played out. Were they determined to make it to the end? To confront Dad? They had a torn notebook that's a little water-logged but still good. You dry it out in the sun for a couple days, careful not to let anything fade. You just want to keep it in good condition, that's all. You want all of their things to stay in good condition, whether it's a notebook or a ribbon.

The ribbon belonged to the light blue soul kid. A ribbon is a bandage and so much more. A ribbon makes you cute, makes the monsters not hit you as hard. You remember the feel of the toy knife in your hand and the way Chara had chafed because it wasn't enough. Plastic can't hurt you. The light blue soul kid's trait was Patience. You don't think they would have gotten along with Chara very well. Chara's not patient at all. Chara tries to argue with you on this, but you know enough about them by now that it doesn't work. 

Mom cries when she tells you about the green soul kid. Their trait was Kindness and they liked to cook. She taught them how to make cinnamon pie because they were allergic to butterscotch. Chara scoffs and tells you that it should be the opposite. You didn't know Chara's allergic to cinnamon. Maybe that's why Mom asked you when you first fell down. You wonder idly if your trait could be Kindness. For once, Chara doesn't laugh at you.  _You kind of already are,_ they say, and it makes you redden out to the tips of your ears. You don't  _feel_ very kind.

But you always feel determined. Maybe that's the difference.

Sometimes you like to sit in your closet with the door open, the window blinds cracked to let sprays of sunlight in, illuminating the corner of closet space dedicated to the other humans. It feels a little like you're with them, like you can sense their souls still lingering in the stuff they left behind.

_You are seriously fucked in the head,_ Chara tells you, but you just shrug and smile. Maybe you are.

But it feels right to do this, so you don't care. 

If you and Mom don't remember them, who will?


End file.
